


Rorschach

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Character Death, Backstory, Christmas, F/F, Season/Series 03, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Christmases, at different points in Root's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rorschach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grimorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimorie/gifts).



> For grimorie's prompt: _It's Root's first Christmas with family in a long time. Found families._
> 
> Warning for passing, vague mentions of self-harm and major character death. 
> 
> Spoilers up to mid Season 3. I've played fast and loose with aspects of Root's backstory in 2x01 The Contingency & 2x02 Bad Code, and also the timeline of 3x09 The Crossing to 3x12 Aletheia. I can only guess at the dates but I figure that because of 4C, John wasn't even in New York during Christmas 2013, so I've handwaved that episode for the purposes of this fic.
> 
> grimorie, I'm honoured to write something for you, especially since you made THAT Shaw fanvid which I've watched on repeat so many times, gosh. This came out far angstier than I meant it to with the beginning, but I hope the end is fluffy enough to compensate.

_December 25th, 1990 [_ _ Psychiatric Hospital, Texas]_

 

She gets there early. The nurse on the ward desk always looks afraid of her, but this time it's different. This time there's a specific reason instead of merely a general feeling of unease.

 

"I'm so sorry, I know it's Christmas, but it's not advisable for you to see your mother today, dear. She had a bit of an... accident overnight, I'm not sure it would help either of you..." She trails off, gazing at the gift in Sam's hands. "Would you like me to make sure she gets that?"

 

"No, thanks." Sam replies, flatly. She doesn't bother arguing. She turns and heads back down the corridor, dragging her feet in a passable imitation of disappointment and reluctance. When she gets past the first set of doors, she ducks against the wall and reaches into her pocket for something she borrowed weeks ago. It takes less than a minute to send the nurse a message on her pager to attend a call which doesn't exist. Then it's only a case of strolling in again, sailing past the now empty desk, around the corner and on to her mom's room, second on the right.

 

It shouldn't be a shock to see the bloodied bandages which wind all the way up to her elbows. It's happened before, and the nurse did warn her. But she stands in the doorway and stares, all the same, heart thumping oddly, out of synch with the world.

 

She stands there too long. Mom cracks open one eyelid, fixes her glare on her unerringly. "You," she growls. "I don't want to see _you_."

 

She draws herself up, stands tall against the horror of it. "Fine. At least I tried."

 

"Get out!" Sam runs away because Mom's on the verge of shouting, and it'll draw attention soon enough.

 

She's halfway home before she realises she's still clutching the box in her hand.

 

\---

 

_December 25th, 1990 [Bishop, Texas]_

"Sam!" She's turning the key in her front door when Hanna calls her, comes skipping across the street in a brand new dress. "You're back early. How was she?"

 

Sam shrugs. "Here. Happy Christmas." She hands Hanna the present she would have given to her mom, glad now that she hadn't bothered to wrap or label it.

 

Hanna blinks and smiles, uncertain. She lifts the lid of the box and her mouth drops open. It's a pretty diamond necklace. Hanna tries to hand it back. "This is kind of expensive, Sam."

 

"Don't worry about it." She hadn't exactly bought it with her own money, but she'd earned it all the same.

 

There's guilt written all over Hanna's face, but she drops the necklace into a pocket anyway. "Come have Christmas lunch with us. It's the least I can do."

 

Sam wants to say no, but she can't.

 

The Christmas meal with Hanna's family is not a pleasant experience. Sam's always liked Hanna's mum, but her father and uncle are unbearable. The uncle spends half the time complaining about the intruder at their table. "Where's your relatives? Why can't they feed you?"

 

"They're dead." Sam answers frankly, adding an obviously fake smile after. Let it communicate the _thanks for asking, asshole_ which only manners prevented her from muttering out loud. Well, for Hanna's sake, too.

 

"That's too bad," he bites back, obviously sarcastic. It probably doesn't help that he knows Sam knows exactly what kinds of drugs he's always dealing, and to whom.

 

Hanna throws an aggrieved look at her father, who glances worriedly back. He won't say anything, he's a coward. Her mum is doggedly eating and avoiding everyone's eyes. Sam thinks she's got the right idea. She cooked every bit of food on the table without help, she might as well reap the rewards of her work.

 

"We're going outside." Hanna announces assertively, when the meal is finally over. Sam follows readily. Nobody tries to stop them. They emerge into the garden, where the atmosphere is not quite so oppressive. Sitting side by side on the dilapidated set of swings, they scuff their feet in the loose dirt in awkward silence. It doesn't feel like Christmas. It could be any other day of the year. Hanna fiddles with the necklace, curling the chain around her hand and then unwinding it again.

 

Out of nowhere, something knocks into Sam's ankles. A large grey cat entwines itself around her legs, mewing affectionately. "Hello! I didn't know you had a pet. What's her name?"

 

"I don't. He's a stray. I'm the only one who can be bothered to feed him. He doesn't usually like anyone else. Hasn't got a name."

 

"Yet." Sam says. "We'll just have to think of one."            

 

\---

 

_December 13th, 2013 [The Library, New York]_

 

Harold's running late. He's usually been in by now to deliver her tray of food. Is still _doing_ that, even though she's notionally free now. She could walk out at any time, the padlock's not even on the gate, she's simply choosing to sit here a while longer. Sometimes she thinks he needs to keep people dependent on him to bolster his self-worth. Other times, he's far too full of himself for that to be true.

 

Footsteps, approaching. If they weren't audible, She would let Root know. They're not Harold's.

 

"Hey," Shaw greets her, leaning against the cage. "Finch requests your presence."

 

Root smiles at her, slow and sickly sweet. "Morning." She shuts her book, stands up laboriously, stretching her arms above her head. "How are you today, Sameen?"

 

Shaw folds her arms. "I'm just fine. Get your ass out here." She flips the latch on the gate and slides it open, with much less care and far more force than Harold would use.

 

Root walks out of the cage and falls into step with Shaw, who seamlessly situates herself on Root's left side, the one with the good ear. It's probably an unconscious gesture, but she appreciates it all the same. The dull nothingness on her right is still disconcerting Root a lot, sometimes messes with her sense of balance.

 

When they arrive at the main work area, Finch is waiting for them, leaning back against a wall. Reese is slumped in Finch's usual chair, scratching absentmindedly at his bristly chin. He looks more like an unkempt dog every day. It's kind of pathetic. At least he's not a _dying_ dog anymore.

 

Shaw goes over and perches near him, on the edge of the table. Root stays in the middle of the corridor.

 

"I have a proposal to make." Harold starts, addressing them all.

 

Root quirks an eyebrow. This should be interesting.

 

"I'm aware none of us are remotely typical, and wouldn't usually pay attention to such things, but the holiday season is approaching, and I think it would do us all good to have...a day, or a meal, something, just the four of us."

 

John makes a disbelieving noise. "You're seriously suggesting we _celebrate_ right now?"

 

Finch's eyebrows knit together, as pained as Root has ever seen him look. And she's been the one to torture him. "No, John, as I've already tried to tell you -"

 

Shaw cuts across them both. "Only four? What about Fusco?"

 

"I've already mentioned it to him. He quite rightly plans to spend the day with his son, and turned down the invitation."

 

Shaw nods, sliding her hands into her pockets. "Okay. I'm in, whatever you wanna do." Of course you would be, Root thinks. It's an opportunity for food, bless.

 

Harold tilts his head in acknowledgement of her support, and then looks at Root. She falters for a moment, so used to watching them interact while remaining separate herself, that the invitation to step over the threshold now seems mighty strange. She's being asked her opinion about 'team' matters. Sincerely. She almost wants to run back into her cage. "Honestly? I'm a little surprised you're asking _me_. But if everyone's alright..." Here she glances at Reese; he's narrowing his eyes at her, otherwise stony-faced. "I'd love to come."

 

"You're very welcome, Miss Groves. John?"

 

"You _know_ what I think, Finch." Reese growls.

 

"Way I see it," Shaw pipes up again, braving John's glare, "Carter'd want us to be happy, wouldn't she?"

 

"You're perfectly right, Miss Shaw. That's settled, then. Christmas day, provided there are no numbers..."

 

John gets up and walks out without a word. Harold's face crumples a bit, watching him go. He takes a step as though to follow him but then seems to think better of it. Root feels - and this is new - genuinely, deeply sorry for him.

 

"He just needs time."

 

\---

 

_December 27th, 2013 [safehouse, New York]_

 

Of course as it happens, they're busy on the actual day, and the day after that. So when it comes to the point where they can go ahead, it's something of an anti-climax. But that's alright.

 

Reese comes around to the idea, which is just as well, since out of all of them he's the only one who can actually cook. Harold insists that as their guests (it's Harold's place, and John's kitchen) Root and Shaw shouldn't have to do anything, which is totally fine with them.

 

Root still makes an effort, though. Ahead of time, she bakes little Machine-themed cookies for dessert, shaped like security cameras and tracking boxes. With Her help, they're not a total disaster.

 

Finch thanks her and takes one - Reese plucks it out of his hand and bites into it. "Let's see if I get poisoned, first."

 

And he's maybe not entirely joking (probability that Asset is joking: 75.9%, calculates the Machine in her ear), but she's used to that.

 

Root smirks at John. "Don't choke."

 

(Harold very prudently waits twenty minutes, and when John doesn't display any symptoms of imminent death, selects another cookie, grinning apologetically at her. She smiles and nudges the tin towards him.)

 

After they're all done eating, John and Harold return to the kitchen to tackle the washing up. Finch remains quite adamant the women shouldn't have to lift a finger. Root suspects the real reason is he doesn't want Shaw breaking things, but keeps that observation to herself.

 

The upshot of this is it leaves Root alone with Shaw, which is more or less what she's wanted all along.

 

For her part, Shaw has brought a small mountain of new toys for Bear. She's rubbing his back encouragingly while he gets his teeth around a chewy plush crocodile, as Root settles herself cross-legged on the floor with them.

 

Root joins in the dog petting, because she's grown pretty fond of Bear herself recently, and he doesn't whine at her suspiciously anymore, not even when John's around. It's not a calculated move, but it does somewhat inevitably result in Root bumping Shaw's hand when they both move to stroke the same patch of fur. Shaw flinches and moves her hand away, but Root knows not to take it personally.

 

"You're really affectionate with Bear but otherwise it's hard for you, isn't it."

 

"Jealous of the dog, Root?"

 

"Yeah." Root's flirting like always, but it's also the most truthful she's been in years. "But why is that?"

 

Shaw pauses to consider it, answers thoughtfully. "Animals are easy. Humans are difficult."

 

Root nods in understanding. "I can relate to that. But you're not doing too badly."

 

Shaw looks up at that, visibly pleased with the praise. "You think?"

 

"Absolutely."

 

There's an adorable little grin on her face. "Cool."

 

"And Shaw? Thank you."

 

"For what."

 

"For persuading Harold to let me out of that cage."

 

Shaw reaches out and tentatively strokes the back of Root's hand with her pinky finger, a touch so small and slight and utterly wonderful. "You're welcome."

**Author's Note:**

> From _Flowers for Algernon_ : 'I knew enough about the Rorschach to know that it wasn't what you saw in the cards that counted, but how you reacted to them.'


End file.
